After three years, I am furiously writing, sketching, filming, and editing again.
It may be rudimentary, and extremely rusty, but it feels familiar.
When I met you, I hated that I wasn’t creative for you, for the ones I quietly love, and for myself.
Fear ate me up.
Thank you for letting me starve for something I loved too dearly, but was too afraid of.
I was naive.
The pain is as strong as ever, no matter how big the smile stretches publicly, but the release.
Oh, the release, thank you.